eatartdaily

& the future was paper you origamied into a pelican, my
granite. I asked if I could color it next, watercolors,
pastels? You said Too arty, too much trouble.

Before & after, my interminable double.
Arguing over the symbolism of concave, cacophonous
exoskeletons of extinct sea creatures
Too pretty & purple you said, too girly.

What’s wrong with girls? I asked.
Not enough gore, you said. Not enough blood.
Should I be pissed that my double is a misogynist?

My muse, whose choice of personal sex
is as whimsical as rabbits smoking cigars,
provides both frustration and comic relief.

Harrowing, at most, but then there are drilling moments
when we do work as one like ampers&s & pre-paid
orchestras, boundaries blurring, sea & sky, meat & skin.

But most of the time it is a tug of war.
Uppercuts & bitch-slaps.
Phrases too vulgar to include.

Meanwhile the tightrope stretched through the night
to its edges vibrates,
and emits and twangy, teeth-grinding tone.

Life of slow, anguished hours and profound, ecstatic
moments. There are moments when you have to say
Enough is enough.

My toes step on the footfalls of leaves & worms.
& I am running, & I am running, and I love it.
But up pops my emasculating double like a jack in the box
you want to shatter to splinters.

Pulls me out of the real world & into those other places.
Not for you darling.
Just tie my laces.

We all have our demons.
Some we worship and embellish.
Others we delegate as ventriloquists.

Others we simply overlook.
But the chamber of echoes we are all born with
requires a guided swarm of redeeming voices.

But you, my muse, my link to the invisible.
You’re transgressing my boundaries.
Stop complaining.

And then one day, I dared to fall in love.
I wanted to keep her to myself.
I wanted to say very few, very exact, very affecting words.

But my muse appeared, head through the water,
coming up for air. I am your one true love,
stop canoodling get back to the writing.

I’m busy.
You’re lying. This isn’t
what you want to be doing.

Every hour you don’t make art
is an hour wasted.
I am responsible for your voice.

Yes but I count too, don’t I?
One two three four five.
I count to stay alive.

Funny, you said.
Laughter is crying through, isn’t it? Or isn’t it?
And then I try to escape again.

And then again my muse catches me.
As unstoppable as the influx
of treacherous media images.

Many more, so very many, googles! years like this.
I am not quite sure what will happen.
But it will.

we found purple gem
stones
we took them
home
resourceful
that we
are
and transformed them
into jewels
for our lovers
to wear
these are words
we found
words
profound
on our walks
with our hearts
full
and our minds
empty

Blessed
Blessed because we are here
And in our chest
Our souls are at peace
And in our hearts
The love is full
From where it come
Remember to smile
And to push back the pain
Having dealt with it
It can’t be dealt with again and again
A scabbard scratching the hide of the animal
You brought in from the wilderness
For your wife
Your children
Huddled around a great fire
Blessed
To believe in a world where God was being invented in the hearts
In the minds
In the words
Of those who believe in Him
And I believe in God
And he saved me
says the father who brought in the antelope
The children look up at him and smile

On this side of life
Of poetry and silk
We meet again
Words between us
You on the other side
Of this side
Of the on in on under
We meet again
Between them
They
Us
We meet again
Remember when?
We met?
We meet again
Eyes on words
Words coerced
Absorbed
Collapsed
Adored
Resurrected
We meet again
We woke on silent beds
To find each other on either side of the page

These are the words
The holy words
The words of light instamatic
And they begin here
The moment you are writing
In the moment you are writing them
Because by reading
By reading them
You participate in their creation

Opposite you in the sky the muse
The God of poetic language
Sending you words

Elongation of meaning
Beneath the floorboards of ordinary language
Light divine

This is the light

In the beginning was the light
And then He became a dancer

This is the trip of the light

And He danced across the world
Dancing us

This is the trip of the light fantastic

Dance with me